A Chance Encounter
by GalaxieGurl
Summary: Brennan accompanies Booth to visit his old sergeant, who's a patient at Walter Reed Army Medical Center. While there, they encounter someone from one of their most memorable past cases.


A Chance Encounter

 _A/N: This Veterans' Day one shot refers back to the 9/11 Bones episode 'The Patriot in Purgatory' and carries it into the future a bit._

As Booth and Brennan were trading their work attire for comfortable jeans and t-shirts, his cell phone jangled Extracting it from his suit coat pocket, Booth groaned, "I sure hope that's not another case, Bones. I'm bushed."

"Booth, how could the 43rd president affect your feelings? Brennan inquired, smirking internally while keeping a straight face."

"It means I'm wiped-out tired; exhausted, Booth informed her before catching a glimpse of her merry eyes."

"You rascal, you knew exactly what I meant!"

"Humor releases endorphins which relax the body; I was endeavoring to help you forget that awful case."

The phone continued to ring. Its owner sighed and answered its summons. "Booth."

"Hey Danny, how ya doing. . . Oh no, not again. Okay, thanks for letting me know; Bones and I will try to visit him this weekend."

"Booth, what happened?"

"Ben Thompson served with us in Kuwait. He was Danny's and my sergeant all through our Desert Storm tour of duty in the Gulf. He took a bullet in the torso which nicked his left lung. He'd served a tour in Vietnam as a young grunt, slightly exposed to Agent Orange, so his respiratory system was already compromised. The guy's tough as nails, but he's had breathing difficulties ever since. He's at Walter Reed again, this time with a bad case of pneumonia."

Early Saturday morning Booth and Brennan drove out to the Army Hospital for visiting hours, and stopped at the visitor desk to determine Thompson's room number and entered the elevator to ascend up to the Respiratory Care unit.

Tightening his grip on Brennan's hand Booth closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the car's wall. Brennan waited for him to speak. After several minutes of silence from her husband, she turned toward him and placed her other hand on his shoulder.

"Booth?"

He took a deep breath and spoke softly. "If it hadn't been for Sergeant Thompson, I doubt I'd here today. When we first arrived in country, he taught us all the stuff that stateside training didn't mention. How to spot an IED, watch the ridgeline for bad guys, scope out a cave, camouflage our positions when there was nothing around but rocks and dust."

"It sounds like he was an exceptional leader," Brennan commented.

"When my squad was captured by the Republican Guard, he led the squad who came to extract us. It took them several days to figure out where we were being held, since we'd been taken from an overwatch post. I found out later Thompson kept bugging the brass to let them go in after us sooner than they wanted to. Our officers had been killed, and Thompson was it. If they hadn't found us when they did-. Well, I owe him my life."

Brennan enveloped her husband in an fierce hug and kissed him soundly. "Then Sergeant Thompson deserves the Medal of Honor," she said quietly.

"Nah, just his third Purple Heart and second Silver Star," Booth replied. "He didn't want any part of those, he only cared about the welfare of his men."

The elevator dinged and the door slid open. The pair stepped out and walked down the hall to Room 412. A tall sandy haired young man was adjusting his patient's IV line as they entered. He straightened the oxygen cannula in the man's nose, nodded to them and left the room. Booth walked over to the bed and took his friend's hand.

"Sarge, it's Booth. Looks like they're taking good care of you in here."

Ben Thompson opened his eyes, and smiled despite his labored breathing. "Hey, Bulls-eye, thanks for coming to see me. I'd rather it was a sports bar watchin' the Cubs, but I'm glad to you came."

" _The Cubs_? No way, Sarge, the Flyers or Eagles are the only ones worth following!" Booth teased his friend.

"Pah! Hockey? Baseball's my sport. You know that. Nope, I'm tellin' ya, the Cubbies are goin' all the way this year, Booth!"

"Sarge, it's been 104 years since that happened!"

"I don't care, you gotta have faith in your team! One of these days, they'll win the World Series again! Now stop arguing with me and introduce this beautiful woman you've got with you, Corporal!

"Actually, Booth is a Sergeant Maj—" Brennan began, until she felt Booth's elbow nudge her side.

"Master Sergeant Ben Thompson, this is my partner Dr. Temperance Brennan; Bones this is Sergeant Thompson."

"Temperance Brennan? My wife _loved_ every one of your books. Sure made it easy to buy her Christmas gifts! You came out with a new one every time I needed a special present for Millie. How'd you get mixed up with this character?" Ben Thompson asked, grasping her hand surprisingly firmly for his age and condition.

"And why're you callin' this pretty lady 'Bones'?" he demanded of Booth. "That ain't respectful.

"Because she works with bones; can tell you all sorts of things from studying them. She's not just a writer. Dr. Brennan is also a forensic anthropologist at the Jeffersonian Institution, and my partner. Both at the FBI and in life. We have a son and a daughter; been married 8 years now," Booth beamed proudly.

"Oh, yeah, I guess I forgot you're FBI. You and Danny Beck still fightin' the bad guys, eh?"

"Well, we catch more than the CIA, but he tries," Booth chuckled. "We've actually worked together a couple of times, but I can't say much more than that, Sarge."

"I know, I know, I'd boot ya out the door if you did; you know that, right?" the older man declared.

Brennan smiled warmly at Booth's friend, and excused herself to use the ladies room. She walked down the hall and stopped at the nurses' station. The lanky nurse caring for Thompson was seated at a console, entering information into a computer.

"You're Sean Murphy, aren't you?" Brennan asked him with a smile.

The nurse looked up at her in surprise. "How do you know my name?" Then he stopped, studying her face. "Wait, I know you, don't I? You helped find out what happened to my father, right?"

"Yes, I did. Since I'm a forensic anthropologist, I recognized your bone structure as you were caring for Master Sergeant Thompson; it's very similar to your father's. And now you are working at Walter Reed," Brennan answered. "How did you come to be working here?"

"Once Mom and I found out about Dad, and how he saved those people at the Pentagon, I resolved to make a difference too, like he did. After I graduated from high school, I tried to enlist, but I've had asthma all my life and they wouldn't accept me.

"I figured the next best thing I could do was take care of the people who served, so I went to nursing school at GWU Hospital. It took me several tries applying here at Walter Reed, but they finally hired me when one of the nursing administrators realized who my father was. She was an Army nurse in Germany; and cared for him when he was shot during Desert Storm.

"She helped me bypass some of the red tape and become a nurse here. Even though I wasn't able to help my dad, I'm helping his fellow service members now, and I feel like he knows that."

Brennan didn't dispute his conjecture, despite her disdain for belief in an afterlife. She had mused many times, that if Booth was right and she was wrong, the prospect of spending forever with him was very pleasant indeed. And so, secretly, she hoped he won that ongoing argument of theirs.

"How is your mother?" she asked Sean.

"She doing well; she gained a great deal of comfort and resolution from learning what happened to Dad after 15 years. She volunteers here in the gift shop, and as an Arlington Lady. They attend military funerals to be sure there is someone present as a witness for the families. It meant a lot to her that your team came to my dad's service, and she wanted to do the same for other military survivors," he told her.

"That is an admirable organization. It's important that a society bear witness to the sacrifices of its heroes. It reminds the civilians that their safety and prosperity comes at a price, making the society stronger as a whole," Brennan responded. "I need to get back to my husband's friend now, but I'm sure Booth would like to see you before we leave. When does your shift end?"

"I'm on duty until 2:30 today. We eat lunch in our staff room here on the floor, so ask one of the other nurses to page me, if you don't see me. I would like to talk to Agent Booth again as well."

Brennan returned to Ben Thompson's room and paused at the doorway. Booth was seated beside the bed, holding his friend's hand and speaking softly, thanking his former commander for saving him in Iraq.

"Son, I swore I'd never leave behind any of my guys in combat. Especially not you. Lord knows how many lives you saved with that sniper rifle of yours, being such a crack shot. I know every assignment tore you up inside, but you never questioned an order, and carried out your duties superbly.

"The brass knew how accurate you were, but I never thought they appreciated what a valuable asset you were. Killing another human being even at 1500 yards takes a piece of your soul. I know. My dad was a deputy sheriff back in Kentucky; and he had to take out criminals in the line of duty. He didn't say much, but I watched him as a kid. Knew how much it cost him.

"That young chaplain friend of yours; he paid a price too, every time you fellows came back from a mission. I could see it in his face how distraught he'd get from trying to comfort you men. Clemons, wasn't it? You still keep in touch with him?"

"Yes, sir, I do. He runs a bar in DC called Paradise Lost; still listens to my troubles now and then when I need to talk to someone who knows how it was," Booth answered honestly.

Brennan knew she needed to make her presence known before re-entering the hospital room. She silently backed up a number of steps, then stomped forward to be sure her footfalls were heard. The heels of her dress shoes clicked on the floor, and Booth raised his head as she knocked on the door frame.

"Booth, you'll never guess who Sergeant Thompson's nurse is today! Sean Murphy, Tim Murphy's son."

Her husband stared back at her. "No kidding? Small world, huh? I'll have to talk to him on the way out."

Ben Thompson might have been older and ailing, but he was alert, perceptive, and very informed on current events. "Why does that name sound familiar? I've heard it before; he was awarded some sort of posthumous citation. Got the same for his buddies who were killed in a munitions explosion in the Gulf, I think."

Sir, you haven't changed a bit. You're right; Tim Murphy was outside the Pentagon on September 11th, advocating for his friends, Walken, Moore, and Park to receive the Silver Star. He was injured pulling three people out of the building wreckage. Dr. Brennan and her team identified him. We found his wife and son and restored Tim to them. Bones just realized Tim's son is your nurse."

Sean Murphy stuck his head into Thompson's room. "Sergeant Thompson, how are you feeling? It's time for your breathing treatment, but we can postpone it a bit until your visitors are ready to leave," he offered.

"Agent Booth, I don't know if you'd remember me without Dr. Brennan around, but I want to thank you again for finding my father and giving him back to my mother and me. You've no idea how much difference that's made in my life and hers. I can't adequately express our gratitude."

Booth strode to the door, grasped Murphy's hand and shook it warmly. "I'm not sure I'd have recognized you as quickly as Dr. Brennan, but I'm so glad we ran into you again. You and your mom deserve closure and your father deserves more honor and recognition than he received. If there was a Medal of Honor for 9/11, his actions surely merited it; disregarding his own injuries to pull three Pentagon workers to safety."

The older man in the bed spoke up, "Nurse Murphy, you're thanking Agent Booth in the best way possible; providing excellent medical care for his friends and fellow soldiers here at Walter Reed."

Sean Murphy smiled slightly. "It's the most I can do to deserve my father. I'd like to think he knows that I'm trying to honor his memory. Also, I owe you both a debt of gratitude I can never repay. You gave my mom back the love of her life! Moreover, you gave me back my father and restored the immense pride I used to feel for him when I was a little kid. By identifying him, discovering the truth of how he died, and petitioning the Army to award my dad and his friends the Silver Star, you gave each of those four men a chance to rest in peace and be recognized as the heroes they are. You presided at my father's funeral and gave me a place I can take my kids to see their grandfather.

"You have children?" Brennan asked him.

"Yes, Maura and I have been married for six years, and our twins Timmy and Diane turned four last month. We named them after my parents because ...," his voice broke. "Well, you know why, I guess."

Booth spoke at last, "Yeah, same reason we named our son after my grandfather who raised me, right, Bones? Pops taught me what it meant to be a man."

"That's true, Sean. Booth's grandfather was, for his family, a quiet unsung hero much like your father," Brennan agreed softly.

Sean Murphy replied, "I don't usually tell people this, but I go out there and talk to him occasionally when something's bothering me and I don't want to worry Maura. Sometimes feels like he talks back to me in my head, but that sounds crazy to you folk, huh?"

Booth grinned at the nurse. "Oh, I know exactly what you mean, Sean. I've experienced the same thing, I think your dad knows how you're living your life, and is very proud of his son. I'd certainly be! Carry on, Sergeant Thompson. I'll call Sean here to check on your recovery. If you're still here next Saturday, I'd like to bring my son Parker to meet you. Take good care of him, Sean. C'mon Bones, I bet that kid has played every game Christine and Hank own. They're probably driving him nuts. We've gotta get home."


End file.
